Screamer
by glass-jars
Summary: The neighbor informs Michael that his walls are thinner than he thought.


For Allison and Emily ;)

...

Chuck huddled over his mug with eyes closed and shoulders slumped, breathing in the steam from his coffee. Too hot to drink, but still nice to smell and hold between his hands while he slowly woke up. Michael sat in the chair beside him, and it creaked a little under his weight. He leaned down to plant a little kiss on Chuck's knuckles and Chuck smiled at him, bleary and content.

"Good morning."

"Morning." Chuck hummed. "Thank you for making coffee."

Michael's normally stern expression softened, as he grinned and watched Chuck drink his coffee. "Better than Starbucks?" He tapped the rim of Chuck's mug.

Chuck frowned. "Hm?" He blinked and his face cleared. "Oh, yes. Better than Starbucks." He paused to sip from his cup, leaning his elbows on the small wooden table. "And you make it just the way I like."

With a little huff of a laugh, Michael reached over and pushed his fingers through Chuck's hair. "You need a haircut." When Chuck rolled his eyes, he leaned over and kissed him, and then stood back up and said, "I'm going to check the mail."

Chuck nodded. Michael snatched his t-shirt from where he had discarded it on the couch the night before and tugged it on before toeing on a pair of cheap black flip-flops. The edges of his pajama pants caught under his heels, and he tugged at them before opening the door and slipping out into the hallway. He made his way down the stairs rather than take the elevator. Ignored the clapping sound of his shoes against the concrete steps.

When he got to the bay of mailboxes the elevator dinged and a little old lady—probably no more than five foot two—walked out, wearing a brightly colored sweat suit, with her pastel purple hair piled in a bun on top of her head.

"Hello, Mrs. Robinson." Michael smiled at her, politely, and inclined his head a little bit.

She beamed up at him, fiddling with her keys. "Oh! Hello, Michael, dear." She patted his arm. "How are you this morning?" She jerked at her mailbox until the door finally popped open.

"I'm fine." Michael opened his own mailbox—it was empty. "How about you, ma'am?" He shut the little metal door and looked down at her. He leaned on the bank of little boxes with his arms crossed, attentive and barely smiling.

Mrs. Robinson waved her hand as she pulled a bill from her mailbox and slammed it shut. "Oh, you know me. Stayed up all night knitting a sweater for my iguana and listening to Fugazi. The usual." She shot him an exaggerated wink.

Michael snorted.

"How's your boyfriend, by the way? What's his name—Charlie? Chet?" She pursed her lips as she thought.

"Chuck."

She grinned. "Right! Chuck! How is he? You didn't break him last night, did you?" Her eyebrows shot up.

Michael took a moment to process her words before raising his hands as if to defend himself and blurting, "What—No—" He shoved his hands into the pockets on his pajama pants, avoiding her eyes. "He's fine. He's drinking coffee. Why would you think I broke him—"

Mrs. Robinson just laughed with her letter covering her mouth. "He's quite the screamer, isn't he?"

"Oh my—" Michael turned his face away. He felt a blush spreading across the back of his neck and along his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "I should get back to my apartment."

She just nodded and shooed him away, and bounced her way back to the elevator.

Michael shuffled over to the stairs, and once in the stairwell, took the steps two at a time. He made his way back to his apartment before the elevator rose to the third floor, and shut the door behind him very carefully. He kicked off his flip-flops. Debated taking his shirt off again, but decided to leave it on for the moment.

Chuck peeked his head out of the kitchen and smiled at him. "Why are you so red? Did you run a marathon?"

"The neighbor heard us having sex."

Chuck nearly dropped his mug, and made a strange noise in the back of his throat. He coughed. "Oh, really?" Shuffled his feet and took a sip from his coffee while he thought of something intelligent to say. "Did she... tell you that?" He ran a hand back through his hair.

Michael shrugged as he approached. "Yes." He wrapped his arms around Chuck and pulled him close, pressing his lips against Chuck's stubbly cheek. "I'm going to pretend she said nothing, though." He kissed him, softly, several times. Settled a hand on his waist and mouthed at his jawline.

"Let's go back to bed." Chuck pulled away for a brief moment to set his half-empty coffee mug on the dining table, before reaching out for Michael's hand to tug him across the living room and toward the bedroom. "I'd like to be comfortable while I try to forget that we scarred the neighbor."

Michael shook his head. Let himself be dragged down onto the bed. "She hardly seemed scarred." He pushed Chuck against the sheets with a slightly amused expression. "She called you a 'screamer.'"

"Oh my God."

Michael chuckled. "You shouldn't blaspheme."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Michael rolled his eyes, but obliged.


End file.
